Mechanical Bull at Number One
by Pretty Little Windstorm
Summary: When it comes down to it, they're just a couple of stories told late into the night.


It's Celty who first teaches him how to tie a bowtie, gloved fingers carefully executing the knot he had been struggling with. He's not really cut out for this sort of thing; his hands are more accustomed to delivering punches or denting cars. Actually he had been on the verge of uprooting a tree in his frustration when Celty had found him. He doesn't know how she had the patience to tie the thing for him, let alone wait for him to finally figure it out. (But then, she lived with Shinra so of course she was capable.)

Sometimes she still ties it for him. It's because he got blood on his hands beating someone up and doesn't want to get his clothes dirty, he tells himself. Not because he likes the feel of her hands ghosting around his neck or the way she steps closer, not at all. Not because he can't remember the last time he had physical contact with someone that didn't end with him hurling them through a wall. It's not like he enjoys it or anything, don't get any weird ideas.

Black smokes swirls around his collar as she gives the bowtie a final tug. He can see her handiwork reflected in the visor of her helmet. Where did she even learn to do this anyway, it's not like she knows anyone else who wears one. He thinks about asking, but decides to save it for another time. He chalks it up to just another one of those things he doesn't question about her.

"Ah, thanks." She nods and pulls away. He tells himself he's not disappointed when she retreats. Regardless, he finds himself staring down the road long after she's driven away, hand curled around his neck and heart pounding in his chest.

* * *

The thing Shinra doesn't understand is that Celty's search for her head goes deeper than just obsession and lands somewhere close to instinct. It's not a matter of just giving up- if it were that easy maybe she would have quit already and gotten married to Shinra and spent the rest of her life doing whatever it is any other scientist/fairytale couple does. (Shinra's always been weird.) The point is, that would go against everything she is. She couldn't stop if she tried, because that's just how deep the goal has been ingrained into her psyche. Not that he thinks she necessarily needs a head either, she's fine the way she is, but he at least understands her need to look for it. He knows what it's like to be consumed by that kind of unrelenting drive. People like them weren't meant for sitting around and waiting. He knows what it's like to not be able to let something go, so he won't make her. They have a sort of silent understanding this way; this is why she doesn't try to break up his fights with Izaya and he never tells her to abandon her search.

Some nights, after Izaya has slipped away from his again _like the flea he is_, Shizuo watches the shadows flickering in the streets and wonders if she's having any more luck than he is.

* * *

It's hard to match her to the whispers of the black rider, the nightmarish fiend, beauty and terror met in a wisp of soot, ink dark against his cigarette smoke. This is, after all, the same creature that frequents parks with him and gets flustered over typos on her PDA. Hardly the stuff of legend. Sometimes, though, he catches glimpses under that yellow helmet of the long ago she tells him about, all rolling hills and soft moonlight. There will times when she races by and he'll be witness to ebony mares speeding across the sky, the whistling of a scythe, and he's reminded of what she might have been. The encounter sends a thrill down his spine. He decides maybe there is some truth to the tales.

He tells her this once; they are walking through the city and her presence had stirred up murmurs like dust beneath their feet.

[You're a legend too,] she reminds him. [Strongest man in Ikebukuro]

"Huh." He doesn't really feel like a legend. Not in the same way she is, at any rate. He throws vending machines while she reaps souls, not exactly comparable if you ask him. Besides, he's heard the rumors about him. Violence personified and all that. He hates violence.

[It's not so different]

This is what he likes about Celty. She doesn't stare like she's waiting for him to send the nearest garbage can flying through the air and so he actually tries to resist the urge.

[You're a good person, Shizuo]

Violence and Terror rendezvous in the dark.

When it comes down to it, they're just a couple of stories, told late into the night.

* * *

AN: In which I used way too many commas. Review?


End file.
